If you read this blog, you probably know I wrote this book. (And if you don’t, you must be blind – it’s plastered all over this blog. See clickable book photo on right. >>>)

It took ten years (or maybe it was fourteen – who’s counting?) from the day I wrote “I’ll have a Frosted Cowboy,” I said to the bartender after pulling the words frosted and cowboy out of a hat for a writing prompt to the day it was published.

And if you’ve read it (thank you, by the way), you know the one thing it isn’t is literature. That book shouldn’t have taken fourteen (or even ten) months to write. But there was a lot of starting and stopping. A lot of rewrites. A lot of rejection. (A lot of rejection.) A lot of self doubt.

A lot of life happening. (And if there’s one thing I’m good at it’s getting distracted by life.) (That, and writing every third sentence in parenthesis.)

But it’s a thing I did. I wrote a book. And got it published. That’s not a thing that a lot of people can say and for that I am very proud. Actually, I take that back. Take a look on Amazon. There are about a trillion books competing with mine for the world’s attention. (And probably most of them are selling way more copies.) I guess it is a thing a lot of people have done.

But still, I wrote a book and after all of those aforementioned rejections (I never counted how many like some authors do -why torture myself even more- but let me tell you it was a lot, a lot, a lot, a lot, a lot) someone finally said they wanted to publish my book.

In fact, I received the good news the day after my 50th birthday. (Talk about a made-for-Lifetime-TV-Movie-of-the-Week moment!) A small press publisher named Velvet Morning Press wanted to publish my book. It was a new publishing company owned by two women who wanted to publish books written by women that would appeal to a female audience. #girlpower (And can I be honest with you? Even though I didn’t have an agent and my book wasn’t being published by Simon & Schuster or Penguin Random House, I was a little bit smug that my book wasn’t self-published. It gave me some validity. In my mind anyway.)

My publishers were hardworking and smart and talented and lovely and there are not enough good things I can say about them. They rock!

They submitted it to Publishers Weekly, where not only did it get chosen, but I got a good review. A marketing plan was created to help my book sell. They came up with a strategy to help me get Amazon reviews (111 reviews – 4.3 stars!), got it into Book Bub, and even decided to change the name from Frosted Cowboy to something that might be more appealing to the masses (and not sound like a cowboy romance which it is not), Another Shot at Love. They marketed my book for years, not months like the big publishing houses do (if they market a new author at all).

But, it turns out start-ups that aren’t funded by deep pockets is a tough business to be in. And the book biz is a tough business to be in. You put the two together and well, the odds of making it are pretty slim (even when you have two kickass women who are working their asses off to make their business -and their author’s books- succeed).

And so, my wonderful publishers (and I mean that sincerely – they are wonderful) decided to close their doors on April 30th. They gave me back the rights to my book and even helped me self-publish it. (That’s what I get for being smug.)

In March my book became self-published and I changed it back to the original title. To me, Another Shot at Love, while much more descriptive about what the book is actually about and definitely more mainstream sounded a little generic. I like Frosted Cowboy. It’s quirky. And my book’s a little quirky.

I wrote a book. It is published. And maybe there are a lot of people who can say that. But I bet, there are more who can’t.

It’s a thing that I did. And of all the things I have ever done, it is the one of which I am most proud.